Sunday, September 28, 2014

Bad Brains

They shaved half her head so they could break her skull open and they scooped out the bad stuff inside.

I typed those words. Me. Just now. I did. Really. I typed those words and then I got up and I paced around the room.

I stared out the window. I saw a little dog straining on a fat man’s leash, trying to go meet a daredevil squirrel. I saw a Monte Carlo thud by with a flat tire and a spiderweb windshield and no apparent driver at all. I saw flowers. Me. Just now. I did.

I thought about some things – things that were not Dana and were not brains and were not that sentence I’d just typed. I tried to drum “Moby Dick” on the wall with two jumbo-sized orange highlighters. It sounded alright.

Then I sat back down and I looked up at the screen. That sentence was still there, just like it was when I left it.

They shaved half her head so they could break her skull open and they scooped out the bad stuff inside.

They shaved half her head so they could break her skull open and they scooped out the bad stuff inside.

I wished… I wished I hadn’t typed that sentence. I did not want to see that in print. But that was where I was in my story. A half-shaved head. A broke-open skull. Surgery. Brains. The whole nine yards.

You see, I saw Dana recently. Not long ago. Our daughter, Rachel, snuck me in to that rehabilitation center where Dana is kept now. Where Dana is taught to read again. Where Dana is taught to write again. Where Dana is taught to pronounce her consonants like average American adults pronounce their consonants.  

Maybe not like the smartest person I’ve ever known used to pronounce her consonants. But you know, close enough, right?

The rehabilitation center, it was remarkably clean and appeared to specialize in people whose bank accounts were in better shape than their bodies. It was an awfully fancy place just to store rotting meat in.

Rachel checked the hall before I stepped out of a stairwell. “You’re on a No-Entry list,” she said. Me. I was. Really.

She said, “Mom sleeps about sixteen hours a day.”

She said, “A month ago, it was twenty.”  

We passed by a man with two prosthetic arms who was reading a book about Heaven. I slowed way down because I wanted to watch when it was time for him to turn the page. We kept going.

When I saw her, Dana looked asleep and that rubbery kind of pale like she’d slept overnight under water. Half her head was shaved from when they broke her skull open and I could see the big scar like an X. I was not even all that sure that she was asleep, really, but I would not have known what to say had she woken. I was not welcome there. I was not wanted there. I mean, I was on the No-Entry list, after all.

I wanted to turn around and to run away and to forget the whole thing ever happened. Maybe spend another weekend in a desert motel with a bottle of tequila and some anonymous dark-nippled girl.

But then Rachel sat down and I sat down and I said, “Hi, Dana.”
I said, “Do you want to hear a story I’ve been working on?”

I reached into my back pocket and I pulled out a wad of paper. I unfolded it. I said, “It’s called ‘Totally True Tales of Dana’.”

“Chapter One. There once was a young girl whose name was Dana.

“Dana lived in a big grey house with her mom, her two sisters, her four brothers, and a three-legged bulldog named Trigger. Their big grey house sat beside a dry red road made out of dirt which ran into a slightly bigger road made out of gravel. And the road made out of gravel ran into a road made out of concrete, and the road made out of concrete ran into a convergence of streets, and this convergence of streets was the town square of a place you’ve never heard of, right in the middle of Oklahoma, which is equally far from everywhere…”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(**Illustrations are by Chris Pottinger. Check out his stuff HERE.**)

32 comments:

  1. This had to be hard for you to write, Katy. So sad... I hope Dana recovers to the point that she's able to see the concern you obviously feel for her (despite all the reasons why you might not feel that way).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hey, Squat!

      I'm actually thrilled that i got this one written. I started telling this story in the blog a couple months ago and have been getting plenty of complaints about my refusal/inability to finish it.

      I feel like I have finally gotten enough of this story out there that i can try and move on to other things now.

      Like maybe a post with a damn chuckle in it.

      Delete
  2. Whew. All I have is onomatopoeia to describe that. It feels heavy and I didn't have to live it. The visual conjured by the word "scooped" alone is intense. And the no-entry list had to be a punch in the gut. Hold on, "dark nippled"? That's specific.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I live a very simple little life and to continue living my simple little life, I have a couple very specific needs: I need a lot of time by myself. I need a constant supply of interesting new music. And not often but occasionally, I need a girl with dark nipples.

      It's not really that much to ask, in the broad scheme of things.

      Delete
  3. 1. Whrn you ever see someone who slept underwater overnight?

    2. What about the Aesop's fable? Where is Anthony?

    Didn't know Dana had more account than brain.

    Nice pictures.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. 1. I think that's one of those things that you can picture whether you've ever seen it or not. Seems like it, anyway. Plus, I passed out in the bathtub one night.

      2. I have realized recently that I'm better at setting stories up than knocking them down. The idea of a story arc sounds great, but I am afraid I might not have the attention span. I give my performance in what i tried to do here over the past few weeks a C+.

      3. Dana's an attorney, so, you know, she's at least a good test-taker. Or was, anyway. And she makes/made more than, say, an over-qualified snack shop clerk.

      4. The pics are cool! They make me think of organs climbing out of people and taking on a life of their own. I should probably note that I've been drinking, though. Tomorrow morning, I'll probably just think I ruined an otherwise serious post with bizarro pics...

      Delete
  4. Replies
    1. You'd better one! I have like 3 perfect GOODSTUFF lines in this one.

      Delete
    2. Katy le Carré hid from a little dog straining on a fat man’s leash, who was trying sniff out the Hunter S Thompson types infiltrating the FEMA sponsored sanitarium. Mrs le Carré has no intention of allowing the Alphabet soup to shaved half her head so they could break her skull open and then scooped out the TRUTH inside!

      From past experience, super spy Katy le Carré knows Homeland Security is monomaniacally monitoring all six degrees of separation of the TRUTH that leaks from her alien navel....

      Delete
    3. No one is coming near my head with that ice cream scooper. The stuff inside is all I've got.

      Delete
  5. Being on a "no entry list" is kind of an accomplishment. I mean usually they make a list of immediate family and maybe a few friends who can come in. The other seven billion people on Earth not on that list aren't allowed in. But, they made a "NO ENTRY LIST" for her and put YOU on it. Cool, right?

    Jay

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm getting most of my information on this from a 12-yr.-old. Granted, she's a smart 12-yr.-old...

      She informs me her grandmother gave the security desk a picture of me - because I "like to pull stunts."

      I just hope it was a good picture!

      Delete
  6. Glad to hear you made it on the no-fly list there to the horsepistol. That takes a special kind of 'terrorist'. Shaved Half her head, huh? Which half? was it the right side? The left? side to side, front to back, or catty-corner? I'd think to crack a coconut properly, you'd need to see the WHOLE of the coconut and remove all the hairy, husk.
    Leastwise .... that's what they did to my momma before they cracked her head open and scooped out the bad goop .....
    please tell me it's shaved like bozo. i could use a little humor

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It is the left side - not from the top down, but just the side.

      I know that she isn't feeling very well, because the Dana I knew would have shaved the other side too and sported a long mohawk.

      Which, now that Ii think about it, I sort of want to do...

      Delete
    2. Yeah ... I shaved mine when they shaved hers ... solidarity 'n all
      Ever had a mohawk, yerself?

      Delete
    3. You shave your head? For simplicity's sake or because you have a great head or because you're balding?

      I can't do it it (the shaving or the mohawk). It would make my head look like a perfect square. Also, lesbians haven't been approved for mohawks. Our obligatory ugly haircut is the mullet, named after Sandy Mullet who was a complete bulldyke but founded the town of Mullet, Texas in 1864.

      Delete
  7. No matter what terms you're on, I bet seeing her like that makes you feel like they shaved half of your heart.

    Hmmm, that sounded better in my head...

    I too am a pacer, especially when writing something emotional. And I'm not entirely sure whether that's to stimulate my thought process, or it's procrastination, or maybe both.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Works for me. There's a Peter Gabriel-era Genesis song with the line, "Held my heart, deep in hair / Time to shave, shave it off, it off."

      I always pace while writing. I used to write in the room right over the living room, and the floor creaked, so Dana knew exactly when I had started writing. I have a foot-powered brain...

      Delete
  8. You're supposed to make me LAUGH, not CRY. Or perhaps you didn't know. Perhaps I didn't send that memo. So I had to watch the live version of "Moby Dick" (the loooong one!) to feel a bit better. Then I had to re-read some of your older stuff to feel better still. I'm on the road to feeling really good. It'll just take awhile.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Haha... I was thinking about that the other day, Sterno. I used to be so proud of how I could tackle tough topics with comedy. Now I'm just a bummer, man. I tried to write a funny one a few weeks ago and came up with precisely jack.

      Good luck with feeling better. I'm sure I'll be here with a self-immolation post or something soon enough...

      Delete
    2. Give me a moderate heads up and I shall certainly provide the marshmallows. For, like, ambience and stuff.

      Delete
    3. If, through my death, someone is able to enjoy some delicious s'mores, then it will have all been worth it!

      Delete
    4. There is a song there. You know that, right?

      Delete
    5. Oh, I generally assume there's a potential song in everything I say...

      Delete
  9. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well, if you're going to say it like THAT, it starts to sound a little ugly...

      Actually, that's a fairly good summary of the story so far. Well, I mean, except for the part about brain-death or anybody starving.

      I also believe that, you know, being 29 and faced with the prospect of taking care of someone the rest of your life is pretty daunting. Very few people are actively evil. Most are just (to quote Russell Edson) "teetering bulbs of dread and dream."

      Delete
    2. This comment has been removed by the author.

      Delete
    3. Well, hmm. It certainly sounds as though you were able to deal with it, leave it behind and move on with things.

      Delete
  10. Wow, I've been trying to follow this tale as it slowly unfolds. My wife developed hydrocephalus two years ago next January. They only shaved a strip down the middle of her head, like an off center reverse Mohawk, and they installed what we now refer to as a permanent drinking straw in her brain. Luckily they didn't have to scoop anything out. It could have been so much worse, and I'm sorry that Dana, you, and especially your kids are having to live through it.

    This had to be gut wrenching to write Katy, but some things have to be written. Hope you get off the no-Entry list soon.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Drinking straw, huh? Sounds as though you have developed a kind of gallows humor over it.
      It's pretty amazing what human beings are able to adjust to - and in just a few weeks, too. People can live in all sorts of altered conditions, which is fortunate, I guess...

      Delete
  11. This all sounds very sad and scary : (

    I hope she's able to make a full recovery.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Alex. It's not like when your great-grandfather has a stroke or something, you know? You always figure there's still a story ahead for someone who is in their thirties.

      Fortunately, the recovery chances are pretty good for someone that age, too.

      I say "fortunately," but it's not like she's talked to me in two years...

      It's all a little weird...

      Delete

Hey you! Why not leave a comment to tell me what you think of what I wrote?